


Bare and Wanting

by Elisif



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Abuse, Humiliation, M/M, Master/Slave, Rape/Non-con Elements, Shaving Kink, non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-12
Updated: 2017-06-12
Packaged: 2018-11-13 11:34:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11184258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elisif/pseuds/Elisif
Summary: Sauron brings his favourite captive in for another session of torment





	Bare and Wanting

**Author's Note:**

> This fic owes a lot in inspiration and in style to An Evil Cradling by Theeventualwinner, so all due credit to her and her wonderful work

Roughly, the Orcs had dragged him from his cell; down Angband’s multitudes of halls and corridors they had led him, to a room where what Maedhros recognised as Sauron’s highest ranked personal servant was waiting for him. Brutally there, they stripped him; they forced him down upon a stone table, pulled his legs far apart enough to make his hips ache, and chained down his wrists and ankles. 

As though he were examining a piece of meat, the Maia’s servant distastefully jammed a finger into his hip. 

“Shave this,” he told the lesser Orcs, boredly “You can leave his eyelashes, but take everything else off. There will be consequences if my master finds even one missed hair on him later. You have two hours,” he said, and then departed. 

Bound and exposed, Maedhros braced himself for what was coming. He could bear them shaving his head,  _ just _ , though only because it was not the first time they had done it; the first time they had shaved his head in Angband, he had fought so hard they ended up having to sedate him to finish the job, and he had vomited in the aftermath when he saw himself. Before that, he had never seen a bald person in his life and the very concept had never truly occurred to him. If they left him alone and he avoided touching his head or looking at his reflection in water, he could just about deny it. But they had never before ordered that his entire body be subjected to such a treatment, and the novelty alone was petrifying. Novelty was never a good thing in Angband. 

“Soap him up and then we’ll draw lots!” shouted one of the orcs. 

A bucket of oily soap was splashed across him from head to foot; the orcs set about lathering it over every inch of his body, in every crevice, and under their broad and eager hands his impulses to fight fizzled and corroded into nothingness. When he looked as though he had been entirely painted white, the Orcs left and took up a noisy gambling game in the corner with dice one of them produced from a pouch at its belt. He lay utterly still, exposed and shivering and watched with dread from the corner of his vision as the orcs gambled and diced in the corner, contesting loudly every outcome of the game. When they had determined first, second and third place, they set to work upon him; the loser at his legs with rags and a pot of wax, the runner up in the game roughly attacking his head with soap and scissors before moving onto razors, and the winner taking on his groin, running a cruel straight razor up down his lathered shaft, balls and thighs. They might have been stripping paint from a fence, debarking logs for the mechanical way they proceeded; they leered and joked, they exchanged everyday gossip as they eventually grew bored with their assignment and reached, as they said, “the duller bits of him”. Demarcated into pieces under their hands, Maedhros felt himself die yet another death as he forced his eyes shut and bit down upon the rag they had gagged him with. True to the Maia’s instructions, no inch of him was spared; when they finally finished and untied him, they bound his wrists and having searched his back for stray hairs, they mortifyingly forced him to bend over so they could shave the crease of his arse. 

They took turns tossing a bucket of freezing water over him to wash away the soap; the feeling of cold water dripping uninhibited down his bare head and scalp was too much, unbearable, shot dead any hopes of pretending that particular violation had never been carried out. Finally, they tossed him a ragged shirt and ancient pair of trousers and when he was dressed, they blindfolded him and led him away to what he knew would be the Maia’s apartments.

 

 

Morgoth’s lieutenant continued boredly scribbling letters at its desk as the orcs removed his blindfold, bowed and departed, locking the door behind them. For a time after that, the Maia ignored him entirely, flicking droplets of ink with each dramatic flourish; Maedhros stood awkwardly at the door in growing terror, until finally it set its quill in the inkwell, crossed its fingers, looked him in the eyes and said:

“Naked. Completely.  _ Now _ .”

Miserably Maedhros turned his back on the Maia and began to comply, unbuttoned first the ragged shirt and set it aside, then shamefully began to remove his trousers with a knot of despair in his throat at what was coming as he fumbled with the ties. The Maia had expressly forbidden him from covering himself in its presence in previous torture sessions, and Maedhros knew better than to disobey, but as his trousers fell around his ankles and he braced himself to turn around, he simply couldn’t bear it. The nip of cold air around his buttocks and between his legs, awful exposure of his sheared groin to the elements; it was all too much, he  _ knew _ it was against the the Maia’s rules, he knew he would be punished for it, but against the weight of having to turn and face the Maia clad in nothing but his skin, against the suffocating tide of viscous humiliation and vulnerability running upwards in each and every one of his veins the way the black poison that killed the Two Trees had run  _ down _ ; in the face of all that, none of it mattered and against all rationality, wretchedly he pressed his fingers between his legs as he turned around to face the lieutenant.

Something twisted in the Maia’s expression, in the stern press of its lips, as it watched him. Something alien flickered at him in those slitted irises, a stillness like a hawk regarding its prey, something fey and ancient and unwavering; but then a hazy gleam passed in front its features as though Maedhros were watching the Maia through the blurring crest of a fire, and when his captor emerged, that face had swifted back into something terrifyingly human once more. It chewed on its bottom lip as it sauntered over, then it laid its claw-like fingers upon his collarbones.

The Maia’s perfectly manicured nails, edged like razors in gleaming crescent half-moons ran down his chest in dangerous little circles; they traced down his sternum, the bare base of his stomach, and suggestively the Maia bit his lip as his thumbs and forefingers came to rest in rings around Maedhros’ own bruised little wrists held protectively between his legs, where they paused momentarily.

“Feeling shy, little slave?,” it said. “Why I could almost-”

The Maia’s sharp nails dug suddenly into the soft undersides of his wrists as fake tenderness wrenched itself in an instant into orchestrated malice; his hands were yanked away from the object of their defense, and his right arm was twisted fiercely around behind his back, forcing him to his knees on the rough and freezing stone flags below and the plying the breath from his lungs all in one furious instant. There the Maia held him down by his twisted arm and dug a knee into his back, pinning him with such force his legs were driven apart and he could feel the freezing marble of the floor against his most sensitive parts. 

“You traitorous little pig!” it screamed at him.  _ “You fucking little whore!” _

For what felt like an eternity, it held him there, arm twisted to breaking point as he fought against the pain and gut-wrenching chill of the marble between his legs until, at last, it released his arm and sent him toppling over onto his front and side. Before he could collect himself and gasp for breath, clutch his injured arm against his chest, it dragged him to his feet by his wrist, dropped it, and then struck him hard across the cheek, its nails leaving sharp little lines of blood in their wake.

“How  _ dare _ you disobey me!”

The Maia’s now bloody fingers clamped around his chin and jaw and miserably he shivered under their grasp as Sauron forced his chin upwards. 

“Listen here, Feanor’s little brat” he said, his thumb pressing upwards and back into the sensitive hollow under his chin. “Your body is  _ mine _ . And that means whatever’s between your legs is  _ mine _ . You hold no claim to it, and you have no more right to object to what I do with it than this rug under our feet has a right to protest my standing upon it. The next time you keep my property from me like that, I’ll have your insubordination punished as theft. Do you know how we punish theft in Angband?”

“No my lord,” he squeaked, struggling under the Maia’s wrench-like grip and blinking desperately to stop the hot humiliated tears running down his cheeks. An errant tear dripped down onto the Maia’s fingers; with a look of revulsion, the Maia wiped his damp fingers across Maedhros’ chest to dry them before taking his cheeks between his palms with jarring false tenderness.

“Hush, hush. What are these tears for? They don’t become your pretty little face, when have I ever done you wrong or hurt you? It’s you who hurt  _ me _ , don’t you understand that? You wretched little brat?”

“Yes my lord, I’m sorry my lord…”

“You know what it’s like to have someone keep something precious of yours just out of reach, don’t you? To have something beautiful snatched away? Do you remember how angry it made you? When my master wore your father’s jewels while he fucked you, keeping them just out of reach? Now do you understand how you made me feel when you disobeyed me?”

“Yes, my lord…”

Miserably Maedhros stared at his feet, his hands hanging limply at his sides. With that, the Maia wrapped both hands around his shaft and gleefully tugged him the the little distance to up against the Maia’s chest and at that wretched violating force he could only gasp and sputter. The Maia pressed him up against his own clothed chest, and in spite of everything, he could not help but push into the desperately needed warmth, take in the merest, stingiest scrap of pleasure in the softness of the Maia’s silken shirt against his bruised cheek and burn inside to think that he had ever taken such a sensation for granted. And in his desperation for the burnt scrapings of kindness, for one feeble instant he imagined that his tear-stained cheek was pressed against the shoulder of a loved one, that the hands on his scarred back were meant in comfort. But then the hands slid down to cup his buttocks with the pinch of sharpened nails and the illusion shattered like an improperly shaped sculpture in a kiln that burst and took out every piece of beauty around it in inglorious death.

“So pretty, so pretty, shh…”

The Maia’s hand reached downward between the crush of their bodies, cupped him opportunistically between the legs before grabbing and tugging his shaft upwards between the two of them and rubbing the tip between his thumb and forefinger. With a look of vicious glee, the Maia stared at him as he flicked the tip of his cock with his index finger and it was all Maedhros could do not to come utterly undone under the weight of that violation. A hand stroked delicately across his scalp and he flinched. 

“You are so very beautiful without hair, all bare and pink and wanting. Neither Eldar nor Orc to look at, my very own creation laid bare before me…”

A sob broke from Maedhros’ throat and though he tried to stifle it, his whole body shook; the lieutenant’s eyes glittered as brightly as his pointed little teeth, and his thumb pressed down hard on the exposed tip of Maedhros’ cock, around which his fingers were tightly wrapped. 

“Tell me, slave, what is your name?” he grinned.

Maedhros gulped, his hands grasping helplessly at the empty air against the sides of his thighs; he knew what was coming, he knew answer the Maia wanted, he  _ knew _ ; he could have used one of his other names, he could have delayed what was coming, but what would even be the  _ point _ , and so miserably bowing his head he choked out:

“ _ Russandol _ .”

“Coppertop? Red hair? What a strange, strange thing for them to call you! Because i can’t seem to find a single…” the Maia’s pointed finger slid down his scalp to his collarbone, “solitary…”, down the line of his sternum, “one.” With the last word, the Maia’s finger pressed into the innermost juncture of his legs, up against the sensitive pubic bone and he swallowed another sob.

The Maia continued.

“Why on earth are you still crying? Isn't this what you always wanted,  _ Coppertop _ ?” said the Maia, his irises tinged red with malice. “I knew you back then, I know how much you used to look yourself in the glass, what a show-off you used to be! Didn’t you used to want this? Didn’t you think to yourself it would be easier if beauty was all that was expected of you? Didn’t you wish sometimes surrounded by your more talented brothers that you had nothing to do but be beautiful and all the praise in the world for doing it?”

He choked back a sob.

“Answer me, wretch,” the Maia boredly snapped. His thumb and forefinge r continued absently kneading Maedhros’ tip. 

“Yes my lord,” he stammered, blinking back hot tears. 

“All that I offered you, out of the kindness of my heart, and you threw it all away and hid the best part of yourself from me beneath your ugly little fingers, and for what?”

“Nothing my lord…  _ oh _ …”

A faint little cry of despair came from Maedhros’ lips as he felt the rush of blood between his legs, the sudden tightness in his balls as his body betrayed him at last. His cock weighed heavily against the Maia’s palm and fingers as it began to swell, and it was all he could do not to try and pull himself away from the awful wrap of the Maia’s fingers about his shaft. Burning with shame, he gulped and bit his lips bloody as he waited for the telltale glitter in the Maia’s eyes when it noticed. He did not have long to wait.

“My, my, my, what have we here?” said the Maia, unwrapping its fingers and placing its palm flat beneath his cock. “Enjoying yourself a little too much, Coppertop?” it said. 

The Maia’s honeyed tone was  _ vile _ ; against all rationality begging him to stand still and get it over with, Maedhros’ hips squirmed as the Maia flicked its index finger first against his arse. A soft mewl of despair forced its way between his lips, and he began to cry in earnest as the Maia bent down, and then flicked his rising hardness in the same manner.

“Isn’t this a pretty show you’ve put on for me, my my my. We’ll have to do something about it, won’t we?” it said, looking up.

The Maia’s eyes gleamed as he placed his hands on Maedhros’ hips. In growing despair, Maedhros swallowed and stammered:

“Yes my lord.”

“Now then,” he said, looking up. “My master will be coming down in a minute to admire you... “ he glanced quickly downwards, “ _ all _ of you. Are you going to obey me this time, pet? Are you?”

“Yes my lord.”

“Good,” he said. 

“In that case,” he said, “We’ll fit in one more session of obedience training before my master arrives,” and leant in to place his lips around the head of Maedhros’ cock. 


End file.
